


What Comes Around

by Percygranger



Series: Infernal Device [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Dildos, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Gags, M/M, Overstimulation, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: John reads a book, Sherlock suffers in silence. Well, mostly.Fill forthis kinkmeme prompt.





	What Comes Around

John sat in his chair and opened his book with relish. Finally, he could enjoy his reading time unreservedly.

 

Sherlock made a faint high noise, and John looked over to where he was tied down, body arched and gleaming in its ropes, splatters of come staining his front. His arse, its punished hue barely visible from this angle, was undulating very slightly, reacting to the dildo’s movements.

 

“The point of this was to keep you quiet. No more noise or I’ll have to add something, hmm?” John scolded.

 

Sherlock’s eyes went impossibly wide, making his face look young and guileless, almost pleading. The gag made the expression look obscene.

 

John resisted the urge to shift in his chair at the sight and stared back, refusing to crack. Finally Sherlock looked away, slumping into his bonds. John shook his head and leaned over to turn up the speed on the Sybian. Sherlock made a small broken groan and his harsh breaths were audible as he tried to adjust to the increased input.

 

“What do you fancy: clamps, menthol? We may have some ginger left over from the other night...” John mused.

 

Sherlock shook his head and struggled against the ropes, twisting back and forth. John raised his eyebrows and turned up the speed another notch, making Sherlock strain up and away, breathing fast, otherwise silent. A tear ran down his face. The ropes held, not letting him up more than an inch or two, certainly not enough to get off the machine, or to let the dildo fall out.

 

It was impressive how long Sherlock could fight, given something un-moveable to throw himself against. John watched and admired the strength and determination in his sub. No one else he’d met would be this stubborn about it. It was a curse and a blessing for him, John mused. Highly entertaining to watch Sherlock caught and squirming, but how he must be suffering, constantly stimulated, not able to voice his pleasure or his pain. John turned back to his book.

 

*&*&*&*

 

Earlier:

 

“Sherlock, you are asking for a spanking,” John warned, putting his book down for the fifth time today.

 

“Psh, this is science, why would I need a spanking for that?” Sherlock answered blithely.

 

“Because you’re being bloody annoying!” John said. “I am reading, and you do not need to make so much noise. This is you getting all worked up because you haven’t had a case in three days.”

 

Sherlock sneered, “Of course, John, your all-knowing ways have spoiled my plans to irritate you into punishing me.”

 

“And you’ll get exactly that if you don’t stop.” John caught Sherlock’s eye, attempting to convey his seriousness. “Don’t push it unless you want me to push back, got it?”

 

“Yes, fine.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to his table with a dramatic swirl of his housecoat.

 

Twenty minutes and one chapter later, John’s reading was interrupted by a curse and an alarming crash of glass. Sighing tiredly, he put his book down again, and turned towards the kitchen. “What now?”

 

Sherlock growled, face splattered with liquid. “It’s not working!”

 

“And of course that means you break everything like a spoiled toddler,” John muttered under his breath. “Okay, that’s it. You’re done.” John got up, carefully placing his book beside his chair. “Anything time-sensitive or explosive there?”

 

“What? No.”

 

“Good.” John pointed towards his bedroom. “March.”

 

“John, this is ridiculous.” Sherlock’s face twisted. He looked John up and down, assessing.

 

“Yes. It is, and I’m going to react in kind.” John kept his hand up, an unwavering instruction. “I told you what was going to happen, and now it’s happening.”

 

With a gusty sigh punctuated by a head roll, Sherlock started moving.

 

*&*&*

 

“Against the wall,” John said, indicating one that gave him room to swing.

 

Sherlock scoffed, “John, really-”.

 

“No talking unless it’s a safe word, hmm?” John spoke over Sherlock’s inevitable objections. “And here is your first chance to back out.”

 

John counted thirty seconds, giving Sherlock time to consider and disregard and realize that he didn’t really want to object. Watching this play out on Sherlock’s face, John motioned to the wall again. The shiver of triumph when Sherlock finally moved was beyond satisfying.

 

For all his complaining when John promised punishment, John had yet to find Sherlock unwilling to play when he followed through, especially in-between cases. All too aware of the intricacies of their lives, John was careful to keep it for when they had time alone together.

 

“Mobile?” He asked.

 

Sherlock’s sigh was smaller than before, and he reached inside his dressing gown to hand it over. John turned it off and checked his own to make sure it was still on, then put them across the room, face down.

 

“You know the drill. Clothes off, hands on the wall.”

 

The thrill of Sherlock obeying, movements slow and graceful, was something John never wanted to tire of. He watched for further, tiny reactions with each piece of clothing removed. Sherlock’s shoulders were bunching slightly, his breathing quickening as he revealed himself, bare skin prickled with goosebumps. Finally naked, clothes in a somewhat tidy pile to the side, Sherlock reached forward, putting his hands against the wall at shoulder height, braced for punishment.

 

John grinned, and went to get the paddle.

 

The sound of John rummaging in the play box was something he knew Sherlock disliked; the anticipation of pain (or other unknown sensation) almost worse than the actual punishment. John felt it only right that Sherlock get a little bit of the annoyance he’d caused back. It didn’t take long to find the paddle: a sturdy wide strip of hardwood with a comfortable grip. John especially liked it because it fit his right hand nearly as well as his left, which he needed if he wanted to fully cover Sherlock’s buttocks.

 

He wasn’t going to use the one with holes. That was really for when Sherlock needed a quick lesson, and today was going to be...longer. John wanted Sherlock in a slower built, lingering pain, one that perhaps would teach him a lesson about disturbing John’s peace. Then again, Sherlock didn’t seem to learn much from their sessions.

 

The spanking was perfunctory, John giving Sherlock a mild warm up of five blows before moving onto the main event. The paddle was a beautiful golden oak, the thud of it creating a wider, deeper pain that took time to really hurt, unlike the quick sting of a crop or cane. Not specifying how many Sherlock would be getting, John counted it for them both. Sherlock took it silently, grimacing at the blows.

 

“-and twenty!”

 

Sherlock grunted as the paddle came down one last time, head bowed between his arms, feet spread wide, pushing his arse out. It was starting to show a pretty pink where John had landed the paddle.

 

“Anything to say?” John asked.

 

Sherlock’s head rose, and he shook it, the motion small and controlled. His face was blank, but his eyes were alive with defiance. John intended to rectify that.

 

“Hands,” He said, stepping back to let Sherlock move as he leaned the paddle against the wall. Sherlock didn’t react much outwardly to the command beyond a slight flare of the nostrils as he breathed in faster than usual. John probably couldn’t hope to surprise Sherlock with what he was going to do, but he liked to try sometimes.

 

Sherlock slowly brought his hands down from their position on the wall to cross them behind his back, eyes slanted to watch John. John walked behind him, back to the toy box, and picked up the second item he’d set out for them. Sherlock’s hands clenched as the chain that connected the cuffs jingled.

 

John smiled at the reaction, and deliberately approached slowly, prolonging the anticipation. He slid his free hand down Sherlock’s arm, accustoming him to the touch, before he circled one wrist, first with his hand, then with a thick strip of nylon. He adjusted the cuffs, checking their fit with careful fingers. He leaned into Sherlock’s side, letting his rough jean trousers scrape against Sherlock’s bare flesh.

 

Sherlock immediately leaned back into the touch, but his shoulders bunched the instant John’s hands moved out of the way. His wrists strained at the fabric around them, pulling the connecting chain taut.

 

John breathed a laugh. The sound was low, intimate, his exhale raising the hairs on Sherlock’s neck.

 

“Never can stop fighting it, can you?”

 

Sherlock tossed his head, like a horse with a bit.

 

John moved back, leaving Sherlock to regain his balance. “I guess we’ll see how long that lasts...” He walked with a heavy tread back to the toy box for the final items.

 

Moving the Sybian was a careful affair, the twenty pounds of the machine heavier and bulkier than the rest of their toys. John didn’t bother to disguise the sound when he set it down on top of the flat metal spreaders they’d bought solely for this purpose, one perpendicular to the machine, the other crossing lengthwise, making a nice square of attachment points. He turned to find Sherlock’s eyes watching, widened, lips turned down at the corners as John attached one of the larger dildos to the seat of it.

 

John grinned, and went back for lube, gloves, rope and, on a whim, a gag, plus a ball with a bell inside.

 

“Kneel down over here, darling. I need to inspect your lovely rump.” John motioned to beside the Sybian.

 

Sherlock moved slowly, face set in a scowl, but he arranged himself as instructed, the cuffs making an otherwise easy move harder. John watched at Sherlock’s careful movements with satisfaction .

 

Once Sherlock was in place, John knelt behind him and shuffled in close, putting a knee between Sherlock’s legs. Pressing their bodies together, John ran his hand down Sherlock’s chest, touch deliberately light, ticklish, and felt muscles clench under his sparse layer of fat as Sherlock tensed. He curved his stroke around between them, avoiding Sherlock’s hard cock, and squeezed a warmed buttock, scratching at it lightly.

 

Sherlock shifted in John’s grasp, the muscle moving under his hand. John squeezed harder, short nails digging in, and Sherlock stilled with a gasp. “Are you going to-”

 

“What did I say about talking? Obviously you haven’t learned your lesson yet,” John interrupted, dragging his nails heavily up. Sherlock whined.

 

“That is not a safe word. Down.” John put his hand between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and pushed, guiding him down until Sherlock’s forehead touched the floor.

 

Sherlock shook his head, limited by the pressure John was exerting. His fingers were clenched.

 

“You’ve just got to keep pushing,” John said, voice flat. “I told you how it’s going to be, and by god, I’ll make it that way.”

 

He reached for the paddle again, and brought it down over the lines he’d just made, hard and fast. Sherlock yelped at the blows, pressing his forehead into the floor. It was progress, but John wasn’t done by any means.

 

Focusing on one cheek at a time, John made sure it hurt, giving Sherlock a solid four whacks before moving to the next. Sherlock’s cries were matched to his rhythm now. They steadily increased in volume as John repeated his strokes, the intensity increasing exponentially, then fell as he switched sides. John kept at it, relentless. It didn’t take long before Sherlock finally cried “Yellow! Yellow, please.”

 

John stopped, putting the paddle down. He took stock of the man in front of him. Sherlock was trembling, his bright red arse rising and falling in the air. His body was sheened with sweat as he panted, chest heaving.

 

“Shh, shh, I stopped, it’s okay,” John crooned, putting a gentle hand on Sherlock’s restrained arms. He soothed Sherlock with small soft caresses.

 

“Let’s get you up,” he said, helping Sherlock rise to a sitting position. “Anything wrong?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “I’m fine, it was just too much.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry if I scared you.” John put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek, feeling Sherlock lean into the gesture. “You feeling better?”  

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

“Good to keep going?”

 

Sherlock hesitated, sneaking a look at the Sybian, but jerked his head into another nod.

 

John huffed a laugh, “So courageous. I might have to reward you for that.”

 

Sherlock’s face turned calculating.

 

“But only if you’re good,” John amended, watching Sherlock’s face fall again, pout evident. He hooked a hand under Sherlock’s elbow. “Down again now, I need to open you up.”

 

With a sigh, Sherlock went. Forehead to the floor again, Sherlock’s arse was temptingly placed, separating to show his anus when Sherlock opened his legs to give John easier access.

 

Humming approvingly, John snapped on his gloves, lubed his fingers, and pushed in. Sherlock opened easily, obviously cooperating. John rewarded Sherlock by not digging his thumb into the still deep pink flesh, satisfying himself with a gentle rub. Sherlock quivered under the touch anyway, sucking in a harsh breath.

 

Convinced that putting Sherlock on the Sybian wouldn’t cause true harm (although of course it was going to cause pain), John pulled off his glove and guided Sherlock up and over to the machine.

 

Sherlock gave John a pleading look, but followed John’s hand on his shoulder, folding down to his knees, then slowly working himself down onto the dildo. Wincing as he bottomed out, Sherlock looked up at John, presenting quite the pitiful, alluring sight. His curls in mild disarray, framing a flushed, sweaty face, Sherlock’s chest was thrust forward by his bound arms, his half-hard cock resting against one thigh, legs sprawled to each side of the Sybian.

 

John smiled in approval, and picked up two of the remaining toys. Sherlock’s lips parted in dismay at John’s selection of small penis gag, eyes widening in obvious supplication. John shook a belled ball, making it ring tinnily, and walked behind Sherlock. Sherlock grimaced, head tilted down, but opened his mouth as John brought the gag near his mouth. Fitting it securely, John fastened the buckle, and then pushed the jingling ball into one bound hand. Sherlock grasped it, and the noise stopped almost immediately.

 

The ropes took longer. John made cuffs for Sherlock’s ankles and attached them to spreader bar beneath him, then strung them through his wrist cuffs and pulled the ends back, making Sherlock arch. Fastening off the ends to an anchor point in the floor, John inspected his work.

 

“You look a right sight,” he declared, taking in the vision of Sherlock bound and gagged from all angles, committing it to memory. Sherlock “mmf”-ed and tried to move, wincing as he over-stretched his arms.

 

John tsked, “Just stay there, hmm? I’ve left my book in the other room.”

 

Sherlock sent John a dirty look, but stopped trying to move, unable to really relax, bound as he was. John went and picked up the remote, “Don’t worry, I’ll hear that ball if you drop it. Oh, and one last thing,” he said, and turned the dial onto a low setting, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction when Sherlock let out a strangled whimper. “I haven’t decided just how much of this you can take, but we should find out, hmm?”

 

Sherlock whimpered again, managed to struggle up slightly, and winced as his bottom met the slope of the Sybian again. John retrieved his book from the living room, and settled in to read a chapter, an ear perked towards the room.

 

Sherlock’s noises were truly pitiful, and deliciously distracting. High whines that John knew only happened when Sherlock was overwhelmed. They turned short and sharp, unmistakably an orgasm. John sighed, glad that he’d waited long enough to make a point, but disappointed he hadn’t got to see. He returned to the room, relishing Sherlock’s dashed hopes when he simply took in the view, and didn’t move to untie him. Dragging a chair over until he had the best view, John settled in to wait. He wanted to read at least three more chapters today.

 


End file.
